


The Cookie Cake is Not a Lie

by charleybradburies



Series: Cap & Iron Man Tiny Reverse Bang 2015 [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Artificial Intelligence, Avengers Tower, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF Pepper Potts, Baking, Bickering, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Presents, Cap_Ironman Tiny Reverse Bang, Cliche, Community: 1_million_words, Community: cap_ironman, Confessions, Conflict, Conflict Resolution, Cooking, Fluff and Angst, Fourth of July, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Slash, Male-Female Friendship, Natasha Is a Good Bro, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, Slash, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Teasing, Tony Being Tony, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't hate me for the title, please. Hate me because I make you feel things.</p><p>cap-ironman tiny reverse bang | round eight: <a href="http://capim-tinybang.tumblr.com/post/126880698733/capim-tinybang-title-artist">heroic</a></p><p>stony <a href="http://clarahow.livejournal.com/44643.html">bingo</a> | square O2 (photo prompt, below)</p><p>Tony misses Steve's birthday party. Steve isn't happy about it...to say the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cookie Cake is Not a Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teyke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teyke/gifts).



>   
> [](http://imgur.com/k5H6kW3)  
>   
> Thank you for reading!!! Comments, etc. are greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> (ps, it would be lovely of you to check out my fanfic [giveaway](http://adf.ly/1MsmSv) and this [survey.](http://adf.ly/1Mslwq))
> 
> Many thanks to teyke; for feeding my newfound comics addiction and for spurring me forward on the path of the cookie-cake-inclusive fanfiction.

Steve’s been sitting on the large ledge outside his room for a while when someone actually finds him, and of _course_ Natasha has to be that person. He wasn’t in the mood to having everything he said be see through, but it hadn’t been a lucky day for him in the first place. 

_Just another day,_ he reminds himself. 

“I guess fashionably late _wasn’t_ applicable this time,” Nat says, slipping easily through the window and maneuvering herself to sit next to him. “I’m sure it’s something big that’s keeping him.”

“Right. Something that _none_ of his robots interrupt him while he’s doing. Maybe he forgot the day. It’s _only_ the Fourth of July, after all. Bears no importance whatsoever.” 

“Steve -”

“Nat, he _chose_ not to come.”

She pauses, her face emotionless but her feelings conveyed nonetheless; then she reaches down for his hand and slips her own inside it.

“Self-determination doesn’t give him an excuse.”

“Disappointment doesn’t make him wrong.”

“Sorry, Cap. I’m going to have to disagree with you on that count,” she declares, squeezing his hand. Her voice is firm, but soft, just like her hand (just like her) and he lets himself lean into her a bit. She’s not half as stocky as he’s been made to be, but her body’s strong, and she can hold him. 

Someone clears their throat behind them.

“Doctor Banner wants to be informed as to whether it is appropriate to begin the fireworks that have been prepared by him and Mister Stark,” says Wanda.

Steve sighs. Nat replies. Wanda brings them a large bottle of water half an hour later. They only go inside once they've finished it, and almost everyone that had come for his party is gone. Probably for the better. People thought he sulked enough anyway.

At least the fireworks had been pretty.

+

“Holy. Shit,” Pepper declares, and now he _knows_ it’s bad.

Well, he’d known it was bad before, but there was a certain level of _badness_ required to bring _Pepper_ to cursing. 

“You know, when Friday said you hadn’t left the kitchen because your little experiment hadn’t gone as planned, this was not what I pictured,” she says, and Tony considers trying to muster a glare from where he’s gingerly sitting at the table, but decides against it.

“It wasn’t supposed to _be_ a little experiment, Pepper,” he grumbles. It sounds like a whine, and he grimaces, but come on, he’s already covered in flour and sugar, and it’s Pepper, for fuck's sake - there wasn’t dignity to protect, was there? 

“I know, I know,” she sighs. Her heels click a couple of times as she considers making her way into the kitchen to come over to him, but each time she stops herself. He does, however, allow her a moment of meeting his eyes before he dramatically groans and slides off the chair onto the floor. He can feel the flour on the floor rubbing against his clothes, but doesn’t bother giving it much thought.

“This was the worst idea I’ve had in a long time, Pepper.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really.”

“Should I retrieve your list, Miss Potts?” Friday interjects.

 _Okay, Pepper was right. Surprise, surprise._ She _was a bad idea, too._

“No, thank you, Friday, and you can call me Pepper.”

“Yes, Miss Potts,” the AI answers.

“You have a list?” asks Tony, angling his head so he can look up at Pepper properly.

“Of your terrible ideas? Of course.” 

“The ones you know of.”

“You’re not helping yourself, Tony.”

“I don’t want to help myself, I want to help myself to...”

“Him. I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Tony startles defensively.

“I beg to differ. Last time you had to be on pain meds, you spent over an hour detailing the numerous ways in which Steve frustrates you.”

“Did not.”

“Yeah, you did, Tony. I was there.”

“You listened?”

“You were talking to me.”

“Oh.”

Of _course_ he’d have told Pepper. He still told her way too much. 

It takes a couple more moments before either of them decides to do anything.

“Friday, let Happy know I’ll need to be taking some things in for dry cleaning today,” Pepper says, and pulls off her heels, cautiously stepping over to Tony. He almost laughs at the sight of the flour on her little socks, but he doesn’t; she’s extended an arm and a stern look down at him and he knows better than to protest. 

“You still have time to go over.”

“And crash the party? Pep, it’s almost eleven. Earliest I could get there is around midnight, since I have to shower, and what am I gonna say? Sorry I’m late, I was trying to be sentimental and I nailed the hopeless part of hopeless romantic but failed at everything else? Nah, I’ll just…”

“Wait for him to ask at work? That doesn’t sound like a better plan.”

“Tell me when you find something that _does_ sound like a better plan.”

+

By the time Pepper eventually retreats, allowing him the time he needs to sulk, neither of them has found a better plan.

Apparently Rhodey _has_ , or so Tony thinks, when he hears footsteps behind him. He’s staring out one of his Tower’s wall-size windows, out over the city and the smattering of fireworks in its skies, and doesn’t bother turning around. It’s well past midnight, he knows - probably past closing time for a Rogers’ party, enough time for Rhodey to come over to his place to ride his ass for not showing up.

And _oh,_ it is. 

“You know, I figured I would’ve at least gotten a fruit basket from you.”

_Fuck._

“And don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m almost disappointed to find you well-dressed and standing.”

“Which way is the _wrong_ way?” he replies gruffly. He can feel Steve’s displeased expression boring into his back. “Is that just...any way that’s not your preference or...what?”

“Wow. You are so full of yourself, do you have _any_ idea-”

“Yeah. I have an arc reactor for a heart and a Narcissus complex for a soul. Did you come here just to remind me of that? Is _this_ the special event of the night? Should I be _honored_ by your criticism, Captain?” Tony snaps around, away from the window.

Steve had no _clue._ He had no _right._ No right to come in here and act like he was...surprised.

As Tony moves closer he realizes that Steve actually does look surprised. 

He looks _hurt._

“Have we come no further than this?” Steve says eventually, his voice dramatically lower, easing into more somber territory, and then realizing that somber territory generally turns Tony into a deer in headlights. 

“I mean, I know you told everyone about the ‘language’ thing, I know times have been hard, and wow, that sounds cliche - but -”

“You are Captain America. You are an enigma _wrapped_ in cliches.”

“And you are…”

“Not fucking Captain America, that’s for sure.”

He’s casual and snarky enough for it to be a joke, but Tony knows that there are multiple questions being begged: two about him, and another which determined their answers - which direction Steve would take it.

“Yeah, well, if you were, I’d be even _more_ disappointed that you were a no-show.”

“If I were I wouldn’t have - " Tony jumps to answer before realizing he really fucking shouldn’t have. 

The distance between them widens, if only metaphorically. 

But if Tony believed in a God - well, one he’d grown up hearing about, not one he knew existed, obviously; Thor and his cohort were extraneous pieces of data in that respect - he’d be thanking them for the fact that Steve’s speechlessness seems to come from being legitimately caught off guard, not from trying to dull the sharp blade of some statement he already knew he wanted to make.

At some point Steve interrupts his musings with a sigh. 

“Were you going to finish?” he asks, then, missing only a beat or two, “your sentence?”

_Oh, hell no._

“Isn’t there a throng of people somewhere, celebratorily glorifying your existence, that might be more receptive of your presence?”

“Well, most of the Avengers are probably drunk enough to be passed out by now, the rest of the party's gone home, and uh, all the guys in my barbershop quartet are dead, so…”

“You were in a barbershop quartet?”

“That statement is _not_ relevant enough to warrant a question, Tony.” 

Steve’s voice sounds like a sigh, until Tony’s name rolls off his tongue. 

_Ugh. Did it_ have _to do that? Did it_ have _to give him these little fucking wisps of hope?_ Thoughts of severely more inappropriate circumstances were almost harmless when he was alone, but the universe couldn’t have picked a worse time for Tony to be wanting Steve to have him bent over a table or something the next time he said Tony’s name like that.

He’s too busy trying to keep that thought to himself when his subsequent attempt at talking up a distraction fails.

“I had a much better idea than a fruit basket, trust me, I was actually making something - "

“You were making me something?”

“I’m actually quite good with my hands, believe it or not.”

Shit, _I need to stop doing that. This is totally not the time._

Steve doesn’t answer except for some raised eyebrows. _Damn him._

“A couple years ago, that...Foster’s intern girl -”

“Darcy?”

“Darcy...introduced Pepper to something called a cookie cake.”

“A cookie cake?”

“Yeah, it’s a cake and it’s - you get the idea. Pepper’s ordered a couple of them on some occasions, and - “

“And you, of all people, decided to make one?” 

“I was trying...to be…”

“Sentimental?” There’s more hope in Steve’s voice than that which would let Tony’s heart stay steady. 

He should probably do something about that. Say “fuck you” to regular physical reactions in uncomfortable situations.

“Not the word I was thinking of, but it’ll do,” Tony says as confidently as he can. 

_Romantic. I was trying to be romantic._

“Did you just say “romantic”?”

“Why would I have - not out loud,” Tony stutters. _Fuck._

“Or...at all. Why would I say that?” he attempts to step back from the moment, even with the feeling that he’s running too slow on a treadmill that’s going way too fast. He doesn’t know why he thinks of that, since he hasn’t used one in years, but it suits the situation, he thinks.

“Are _you_ romancing me, Rogers?”

That may have been too far. Steve steps closer. 

“That generally implies more reciprocity in the matter, doesn’t it?” he says in that voice, that low one that’s uncharacteristically (but also clearly unintentionally) intimidating, low and gravelly, and unrealistically sexy. 

He starts to step back again, away from Tony, and _wow,_ Tony needs to get some goddamn self-control one of these days.

“Who said anything about a lack of reciprocity?”

Tony’s brain stops working well enough to challenge him when he starts thinking that he shouldn’t have said that, because all his focus is redirected to the curiosity in Steve’s expression, a kind he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen before. 

And Steve’s eyes definitely don’t flit down to his lips, of _course_ they don’t, Tony was trying to play things off, he just has to be more careful, Steve is definitely not - 

About to kiss him. 

Except that he definitely is.

But he doesn’t, because Steve Rogers is a goddamned gentleman, and he pauses. Hasn’t even put a hand on Tony yet, nothing, just a tilted head and some looks and bated breath, but _holy shit._

“Go ahead,” Tony whispers, and he definitely sounds like some idiot in a romance novel. Not that he’s ever _read_ a romance novel, but Pepper has, so he knows what they sound like. Sort of. 

Steve smiles with a momentary chuckle that’s almost more a sigh of relief, and by the time Tony’s smiling about his smiling Steve’s kissed him. Softly. Steve’s all soft - not even just his lips, but the way he’s standing and his hands on the back of Tony’s neck - which is confusing because _how could someone be all muscle and be able to move in a way that made it seem like he was some sort of anthropomorphic and very well-trained puppy or something._

Tony’s not so gentle. Tony’s needy and greedy and _holy shit this is happening_ and when he pops up onto his toes slightly to make it easier to wrap his arms over Steve’s shoulders (because he needs him that much closer, right now) Steve chuckles and Tony doesn’t care until he feels an actual grip on Steve’s part, pulling Tony tighter to him with an arm around his waist.

Eventually - and it seems natural enough, even though Tony couldn’t say it wants it - they stop and pull away from each other a few inches.

“Wait, so...what happened to the cake?” Steve asks. “You were, uh, starting to explain that.” 

Tony sighs, but a chuckle escapes him all the same.

“Something exploded, I think? Or...I don’t really know. It shattered, after I’d decorated it and everything. Just a sad, broken shield on my kitchen floor. It was kind of depressing.”

Steve takes a moment to respond.

“Did you try it?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you try to eat any of it?”

“No, I just...put it back on the pan, sheet, thing. I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“It might be broken, but it might not be bad.”

“You want to try the shattered shield cake?”

“It’s a _cake,_ Tony. Not my heart,” Steve deadpans, and Tony makes sure to raise his eyebrows.

“Oh, did - did Shakespeare say that? Or did you just make it up on the fly?”

Steve rolls his eyes, and when Tony’s meet them afterward, he finally sees what he wants to in them.

“Okay, okay. Birthday boy wants some cake. Jeez, make it through ninety years, man thinks he deserves everything,” Tony smirks, but heads toward the kitchen anyway.

As it turns out, the cake _wasn’t_ half bad.


End file.
